


Hell in High Heels

by Jewelgirl04



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF
Genre: All the synonyms, Established Relationship, F/M, High Heels, No pun intended, Overarching theme, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Smut, We all know that Seb is a sucker for them, or is it really?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7279351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jewelgirl04/pseuds/Jewelgirl04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian’s girlfriend inadvertently discovers his affinity for high heels. She has no qualms about using this to her advantage. </p><p>Repeatedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jaselle d’Orsay Platform Pumps in Lipstick Patent (Jessica Simpson)

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will feature a different shoe, along with a link to where it's available and a photo for reference (just in case the link ever expires). 
> 
> This plot came about in conversation with one friend and rapidly spread into conversations with others. They all dared me to write this, so I did. Hope you like it.

[Jaselle d’Orsay Platform Pumps in Lipstick Patent (Jessica Simpson) - $59.99 at Macy's](http://www1.macys.com/shop/product/jessica-simpson-jaselle-dorsay-platform-pumps?ID=2103626&CategoryID=26481&swatchColor=Lipstick%20Patent#fn=sp%3D1%26spc%3D3%26ruleId%3D78%26slotId%3D1%26kws%3Djessica%20simpson%20lipstick%20patent)

It all started with a pair of cherry red peep toe pumps.

She had been out shopping with a friend in a suburban mall near where she’d grown up and they’d somehow gravitated towards Macy’s that afternoon. Seeing as the shoe department was right near the mall entrance to the department store, it didn’t take much of a leap to figure out how they’d found their way to the sale rack.

She normally wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything with Jessica Simpson’s name on the label, as the woman’s _terrible_ Newlyweds show on MTV and overall butchering of Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots are Made for Walkin’” permanently seared onto her cortex made her cringe a decade later.

But damn it, the woman lent her name to some _really_ fierce shoes. These featured a 4” heel, but a 1” platform that made walking a bit more manageable, which was certainly a plus for a career woman in the Big Apple. And on top of that, they were on _clearance._

_CLEARANCE?_

_FOURTEEN DOLLARS?!?_

**_SOLD_ ** _._

She had no idea when she’d wear it, but for fourteen bucks, who cared? If she wore them even one time, they’d already have paid for themselves. Her shopping conscience was fairly logical like that, not to mention enabling.

The red high heels sat in their box in the closet for months, nearly forgotten. At least, until she had been invited to a Memorial Day barbecue at one of her bosses’ houses in the Hamptons.

Eager to be holiday appropriate and still classy in light of the pretentiousness to come, she had slipped into a royal blue sundress, white short-sleeved cardigan, and of course, the red pumps.

She’d managed to avoid a complete toe-disaster by sitting in a deck chair for most of the party or leaning against a railing while talking to the company President’s wife. Even more prepared, she had packed a pair of flip flops in her purse for the train back into Penn Station and the subway ride to the Upper West Side.

Unfortunately, the strap of one of the sandals snapped on her way out of the station nearest her apartment, leaving the heels as the only option to wear while hoofing it back home. At least it was only a few blocks to her building and her feet had enjoyed a nice respite care of the Long Island Railroad and the 1 train.

They clicked on the black granite tile in the lobby and the elevator, and after a brief silence across the carpet of the sixth floor corridor, proceeded to click atop the cherry hardwood floor of her apartment once she’d opened the door.

She was a bit startled that all of the lights were on when she was certain she’d turned them off before leaving that morning, but the dull voices on the other side of the kitchen hinted at the presence of her boyfriend. Sure enough, the white quartz countertop and honey cabinets gave way to the sight of him in the corner of the gray sectional watching a movie.

Sebastian was alert to her presences almost at once and ran a hand through dark hair that hung just above his collar bone. His lips firmly curved into a warm smile. “You’re home.”

She took swift steps into the depths of the room until one knee was pressed against the arm of the sofa, just below where his hand had curled over the edge. It was then that she kissed him, her fingers coiled around the nape of his neck to hold him in place.

“Thought you weren’t flying in until tomorrow,” she murmured against his lips.

“I wasn’t.” Sebastian pulled back a couple of inches to look her in the eye, his pale ones filled with a sparkle of mirth. “But then I realized what a fucking _stupid_ idea it would be to fly home on Memorial Day with everyone and their mothers, so I got myself on an earlier flight. Had to fly into JFK instead, but it was worth it.”

“If I’d known you were flying into Kennedy, I’d have just told you to come to the party.” She straightened, but her hand lingered, affectionately stroking warm skin. “We could have taken the train home together, or grabbed a cab.”

“It was nice to just be in my own space again. I wouldn’t have been in top social form, anyway, until I scrubbed off the remnants of the media machine.” He coiled his fingers around the strap of her purse and slid it down her arm until she had no choice but to let it slide onto the floor. “Stay a while, won’t you?”

Her lips twitched. “Federal holiday tomorrow. You won’t lose me to the office until Tuesday, remember?”

He nodded, roguish grin firmly in place. “Another reason I switched my flight.”

She twirled a lock of his hair, feeling herself slip into the relaxed and contented state she always associated with his presence. It was easy to let herself get distracted by work when he wasn’t home and she didn’t have to look at the time and lament how much she wanted to get home to see him instead of sending out another round of e-mails to clients.

“Let me just change and then I’m all yours,” she asserted, already turning to head back towards their bedroom on the other side of the apartment.

His hand shifted off the arm of the couch and hooked around the back of her calf, just below her knee, effectively halting her movements. She looked down at Sebastian and tilted her head at him, puzzled.

Seb’s gaze roamed the length of her creamy skin and his hand slid down along with it until he reached her ankle, using his hold to gently urge the sole of her shoe onto the edge of the couch cushion. “What are these?” he asked when his eyes managed to lift to her face.

“Uh… _shoes_.”

“I can see that.” His thumb traced the line where the patent leather met her extensor muscle. “But I’ve never seen _these_ before.

“You’ve seen me in heels plenty of times before, Seb.”

“Yes, but not like this. These are _not_ what you wear to work.” He kept the terms ‘sensible’ and ‘comfortable’ away from his tongue. “These are… I’d remember if I’d seen these.” She watched his nostrils flare with an inhale as his eyes lowered again. “Are they new?”

“Sort of? I bought them a few months ago and forgot I had them.” She bounced her shoulders, her own focus raptly fixated on how he was regarding her choice of footwear. “I remembered them when I decided I wanted to wear attire appropriate for the occasion. I had my white and my blue, so I just had to find my red.”

He blew out a slow breath. “God bless America.”

“ _Sebastian!_ ” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Tomorrow’s Memorial Day, not the Fourth of July. That’s in poor taste.”

“Poor taste, huh?” He tugged her ankle a little closer and used the new position to press lightly on the inside of her knee, nudging her leg to the side. “Guess I need a lesson in good taste, then. Or things that taste good.” Sebastian lifted his head to flash her a devious grin, blue eyes darker than they’d been a few moments ago. “I’m not picky.”

She remained firmly in place, studying him. Their sex life was far from boring and their only real dry spells came when he was away for extended periods of time. She would go as far as to say with conviction that she was perpetually satisfied.

But this? _This_ side of Sebastian was new to her.

His weights-callused fingers skimmed along the outside of her thigh, but never _quite_ reached the hem of the dress. “C’mon pretty girl.” He turned and dipped his head to brush his lips against the soft skin just beside her kneecap. “I’m waiting on an answer.”

The corner of her mouth rose. “You never asked a question.”

His stubble dragged against her skin as he turned his head and attention to more than just her legs. “Do I have to?”

She swiped her tongue across her bottom lip and gnawed on it to tamp down her burgeoning grin. “I’ll tear an ACL if I stand this way.”

“Okay.” Seb’s eyes flitted around the room, seemingly searching for a solution. “I can figure this out; I have a college degree.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Yes, you most certainly were.” His restless fingertips tapped out an absent rhythm over her flesh, face fairly neutral as he continued to seek out an alternative. But then a smirk started to form and she knew in an instant he’d found it.

Sebastian eased her leg back down onto the floor and pushed up from the couch to stand. His newfound presence in her space crowded her and she was forced to take a step back to maintain her balance. The movement gave him the room to stoop a little and wrap his arms around the backs of her thighs, just under her butt, and hoist her up into the air.

The sudden movement drew a squeak of laughter from her, but he didn’t hesitate in his motion and sidestepped the square coffee table to carry her over to the perpendicular side of the couch, the back of which was butted up just beneath the windowsill. One of his knees pressed onto a gray cushion, then the other, and before she knew it, she was seated on the ledge with his body between her legs.

A moment later, Seb had his palms on the sill, bracketing himself around her. “Hey.” He grinned.

She reached out to smooth his hair back, smiling at him reverently. “Hi.”

Laughter rumbled through his chest and he swooped in to kiss her, the contact pushing her back up against the window. His lips moved slowly against hers, savoring the flavor of strawberries with the slightest tang of red wine.

And it only made him press closer to her so that his tongue could could coax his way inside to chase the piquancy of the combination, continually amazed at how something so small could turn him on so intensely. It had even distracted him from the source of the arousal evident with a single glance at his jeans.

At least until in a fit of intense need, she wrapped her legs around his waist and the stiletto heels dug into his ass.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he growled and retracted one of his hands to grip the back of her thigh just before the hem of her blue sundress. Then he promptly sunk down onto his knees, blood far too hot in his veins.

“Seb!” she hissed, flushing. “Everyone’s going to see!”

“It’s dark out.” He flicked his tongue across the hollow of her throat. “No one’s gonna see…”

She bit back a moan. “It’s easier to see _in_ when it’s dark and we have the lights on.”

His fingertips glided up the undersides of her thighs until they reached the edge of her panties. “You want me to stop?”

 “ _No_.” She shook her head, hair falling into her face.

“Good. Then let them fucking see,” he murmured between nips of her inner thigh. “They’ll never have a view like this.”

He paused as he found the apex of her legs, but based on the overwhelming amount of black overtaking in his gaze, Sebastian clearly had no intention of stopping. He merely pushed back the blue cotton to reveal the panties beneath, a plain pair of nude high cut briefs.

She flushed, embarrassed at the utter lack of sexiness she’d associated with the style, but Seb didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he could not bring himself to tear his eyes away as he blew a warm breath right over the triangle of fabric.

Her resultant shudder did nothing for her blush, but it did _plenty_ in terms of encouraging him.

He hooked his thumbs through the leg holes and tugged them until she could kick them off of one foot.

He drew his hands back down her thighs and knees and calves until one dropped away, while the other wound around her ankle. He lifted the right leg into the air so he could trail kisses from ankle to knee, acutely aware of the crimson footwear practically screaming at his libido. He hooked her leg over his shoulder and then repeated the process on the left one.

Sebastian lowered his head to the exposed skin and his fingers spread her apart, tongue dipping to take one smooth swipe between her folds before delving into her, the tip of his nose prodding at her clit with each thrust of the muscle inside of her.

Her head tipped back with parted lips and her hand sunk into his hair. It was moments like this when she knew she would miss the length when he eventually cut it, but her body felt far too much like it was on fire to dwell on the impending lament for much longer. As much as his girlfriend had protested being in front of the window, she was grateful for his aforethought now in light of her useless spine.

The legs over his shoulders flexed and she rolled her hips up against his mouth, bucking after a pleased groan vibrated through her core and his hands tightened on her thighs. A stiletto heel dug into one of his shoulder blades and the reverberation from whatever the hell kind of filthy noise that was shot through her again.

Seb’s lips slid to suck at her clit, alternating with flicks of his tongue over the swollen bundle of nerves. He maintained the pattern for a while and kept her held in the limbo-like state between coherence and the haze of an orgasm. Though, once his right hand had left her thigh and his finger plunged into the slickness inside of her, the scale had clearly tipped in one direction.

After he’d added a second finger, her thighs began to spasm and her grip on him tightened, along with her legs around his head, ankles and high heels criss-crossed over his spine. “ _Seb_ …” she half-whined, half-exhaled and Sebastian swore it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard in his life.

But then she came with his name, his _full first name_ , on her tongue and knew he’d been wrong a few moments earlier. Colors exploded behind her eyes and thankfully, they were not the ironic red, white, and blue that would probably make her laugh and kill the moment. They were warmer, yellows and oranges, the overhead lights in their apartment filtered through eyelids heavy with pleasure.

 “Sebastian,” she repeated with a gentle tug on his hair distinctly different from a grip and he lifted his head to look up at her.

And God, was she a sight. With messy hair and flushed cheeks and a sated smile on her face. One he’d put there.

He’d almost forgotten about the shoes again until he felt the drag of them where one had gotten stuck in his tee shirt.

Sebastian gingerly unhooked her left leg and then her right, but kissed his way up the latter from ankle to knee and bypassed the rest of her altogether so that he could cup the back of her head to keep her steady while his mouth covered hers.

She was panting when she managed to come up for air, lovesick grin firmly in place. “All this because of a pair of heels?”

“Didn’t hurt that I missed you.” Seb ran his nose alongside hers, nuzzling. “… Or that the only company I’ve had for the past month has been my hand. But the heels _definitely_ helped.”

Her voice was deadpan, “How romantic.”

“Would it help if I said I replayed our greatest hits every time?” he offered, eyes twinkling in earnest.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “A little. But I think I’d like to hear you make your case for what ranks up there.”

“Maybe we could even revisit some of them?” he suggested, a hopeful eagerness in his eyes that reminded her faintly of a Golden Retriever. “Take a trip down memory lane and all that.”

“You’ll have to carry me,” she pointed out, evidence of her agreement.

“My poor girl.” He nipped at her lower lip. “The heels hurt you that badly?”

“No.” She shook her head, messy hair drifting with each movement. “I don’t think my legs are capable of supporting anything right now, let alone my weight. Excellent job.”

“Oh thank God.” He blew out a breath and kissed her firmly again for just a minute. “Now I don’t have to feel guilty about asking you to wear them again.”

“Are you _kidding me_?” Her voice rose an octave, incredulous. “If that’s the way you’re going to react every time I wear them, I’d rather require their surgical removal. They’re not going _anywhere,_ sweetheart.”

“They can have my side of the bed, my closet…” He licked his kiss-swollen lips. “Whatever they need.”

Her laughter bubbled from her throat, positively melodious. “If anything, I think they might require a few friends.”

“Deal.”


	2. Niro Pump (BCBGeneration)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos, everyone! The response has been awesome! However, I'd love to hear what you think, so please feel free to leave comments. :D xoxo

[Niro Pump (BCBGeneration) - $49.95 at DSW](http://www.dsw.com/shoe/bcbgeneration+niro+pump?prodId=330053)

 

When Sebastian wasn’t on his Winter Soldier diet and enough of their friends were in town, Wednesday nights were always reserved for trivia at their favorite bar. It was small by midtown standards and not particularly trendy, but those features made it an ideal meeting place as his star continued to rise in Hollywood.

It was also close enough to her office that she could stay decently late and amble her way over only a few minutes before the first round was due to kick off, with appetizers already waiting. So long as they ordered Fried Pickles (which they _always_ did, they knew her too well), she would be happy.

Sebastian wasn’t particularly great at trivia. Because he’d spent many of his formative years abroad, there wasn’t a lot he knew about pop culture in America prior to the mid-nineties. But he was like a sponge when it came to film and music and that was where he particularly shined.

His girlfriend, on the other hand, was somewhat of a trivia savant. The more random the question, the more likely she was to know the answer. (There was a particularly memorable moment where their friend Will had gotten up and left the bar when the tie-breaking question had asked both teams to guess how many countries there were in the world to see who could come closest without going over and she’d hit the number on the head.)

Sebastian always enjoyed seeing her hyper-competitive nature bubble to the surface under these kind of circumstances: surrounded by some of their oldest friends, with alcohol freely flowing, and uproarious laughter following every conversation.

On this particular occasion, she had been trying to coordinate with a client in Australia before a deadline, which had been nearly impossible due to the time difference. However, with last minute instructions coming in just after 7pm (9am in Sydney), she had filed the paperwork before the clock ran out, swapped her pencil skirt for a pair of skinny jeans, and hightailed it out the door.

She strolled (hurried, really) inside the Jolly Monk with two minutes to spare and promptly smacked away Chelsea’s hand before she could eat the last fried pickle. “How _dare_ you.”

The wiry redhead shrugged as she sipped at her martini. “Thought you’d gotten kidnapped. Figured the least I could do was eat some frickles in your honor.”

“How noble of you.” She tipped forward to exchange cheek kisses in greeting. “You’re buying me another basket, though.”

“Meh. Can’t say I didn’t expect it.” She popped a french fry in her mouth and flicked her fingers. “Go get yourself a drink and settle in. We need you on your A-game.”

Her eyes rolled and she made her rounds, acknowledging the presence of all of their friends at the pair of high top tables that had been squished together in what they’d come to refer to as their corner.

Of course, she had saved the best for last.

She slid into her chair with a practiced ease and neatly crossed her legs. “Hey.”

“Hi.” His hand came to rest just above her knee and he curved forward to kiss her. It was long enough to demonstrate he’d missed her, but not enough to make their friends uncomfortable. When they broke apart, his eyes flicked down to drink in the sight of her from under the cover of his black baseball cap, the black blazer, the black silk dress shirt underneath, and jeans. She was obscured by the table from the shins down. “Didn’t think you were going to make it.”

“It was nine in the morning in Sydney.”

His brows furrowed, but his eyes and lips hinted at amusement. “I’m sure that made sense in your head.” He held up a mussel to her mouth. “Eat. We need you at full brain power or we’re fucked.”

She parted her lips to wrap them around the shell, pulling away once she had cleaned the last of the meat with her tongue. Sebastian reached out to brush away a droplet of the white wine sauce from the corner.

She smiled at him sweetly and he bent forward to kiss her forehead. “Better?”

“With you?” Her hand lifted to smooth a piece of his hair that had been sticking up a bit. “Always.”

Sebastian beamed at the sappy reassurance and slung his arm along the back of her chair. There was no answer that could top hers, so he merely settled into a contented silence as the microphone turned on and the first round began.

* * *

 

The host always paused between the second and third rounds to give teams bathroom breaks in light of the amount of beer and cocktails that were readily consumed and then again between the fourth and fifth (and final) rounds.

Right at the start of the first intermission, Sebastian drained the last of his beer with a slight frown. He shifted to slide off of the chair, but was met with a hand over his. His gaze lifted to to the source of the hand.

“I’ve got it,” his girlfriend asserted and hopped down to the wooden floor with a loud clack.  “I’m about two drinks behind anyway. Same?” When he dipped his head in agreement, she spun on her heel and began the short trek to the bar in the center of the room.

After a moment, Sebastian could no longer resist the temptation. He braced himself with a hand atop her vacated chair and leaned to watch her as she walked away. What had started with a general perusal of the way her jeans clung to her legs while the slight drape of her blazer and blouse concealed the taper of her waist and slender torso (that he was intimately acquainted with in a manner no other man in the bar was, thank you very much), turned into a strangled noise the moment his pale eyes descended past the hem of her jeans.

“Seb… you alright?” Doug asked with a scrutinizing furrow of his eyebrows.

He covered by clearing his throat and holding his hand to his chest. “Yeah, man. Nacho just got stuck in my throat.” He was an actor, after all. “I’m good.”

“Awesome. I can’t remember how to do the Heimlich Maneuver for shit.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Should probably tell your girl to hurry up on those drinks. Can’t leave you to your own devices for a God damn minute.”

“Yeah…” he laughed awkwardly, already making a hasty retreat from his seat. “You’re right. I’ll be back in a few.”

“We’ll hold down the fort,” his friend confirmed with a tip of his bottle in Sebastian’s direction, then immediately returned to an animated conversation with Will and his girlfriend.

He inhaled a breath and then walked slowly, savoring the view as each step brought him closer to where his girlfriend was waiting to order their drinks from the next available bartender. Once he was near enough, his fingertips eased their way onto her hips and gripped the curve, firm, but not hard.

Whereas when they had first started dating, she might have jumped at the contact, she now knew Sebastian by touch and scent. So much so that she had realized it was him behind her a second before his hands had come into contact with her body.

“You’re a fucking _menace_ ,” he growled into her ear, voice low.

“Me?” She glanced over her shoulder and snorted in absolute disbelief. “What’d I do _this_ time?”

“For starters?” He lightly tapped the toe of his sneaker against one of the straps of her heels, making contact with a square gold rivet that studded the black snakeskin pattern material. “Those. Even worse…” He stepped a little to the side and made like he was reaching over to snag a few pretzels from one of the dishes on the counter, but the movement resulted in the firm press of his pelvis into the curve of her ass. “You did _that_.”

She bit her lip, but grinned nevertheless. “Oh. Hello there.”

“And it ain’t saying goodbye anytime soon,” he complained with a sigh. “So thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered cheerfully. “I normally wouldn’t have bought them, but they look just like a pair of $750 Valentino’s for less than a tenth of the price. I couldn’t resist the find.”

“I would like you to know that the next time you find yourself faced with such a dilemma? _Buy them_. I will pay for them myself.”

She chuckled around a bite of her own pretzel. “Be careful or I’ll hold you to it. You haven’t seen the bill for my credit card this month.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t serious, sweetheart. I’d like to strongly encourage this heel-shopping habit of yours. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“That makes you sound an awful lot like a shoe sugar daddy and that’s a bit… not us” She blanched. “You know I don’t like it when you spend money on me, but I appreciate that you offered.” She smiled warmly at him. “So much so…” There was a momentary flicker of her eyes and she crooked her finger at him so that he would lean down. When he did, she whispered, “There’s a supply closet at the end of the hall, past the employee bathroom. Go wait for me there. I’ll count to sixty then come find you.”

And for the second time that night, Sebastian stopped breathing. “Are you serious?”

“ _Go_.” She shooed him.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

Sebastian Stan felt like an utter idiot. Largely because he’d been standing in the dark for a solid five minutes, partially because he’d now smashed his elbow into one of the iron supply racks for no less than the third time.

The things he did for love.

No sooner did he think that, the door slowly pried open and the sliver of orange light was obscured by a lithe black shape before it was snuffed out with the click of a doorknob.

“Babe?” he whispered and lifted his hands, feeling even more foolish than he had before she entered.

Gentle fingers found their way to his ribs. “Right here,” she acknowledged, “though, I’m confused as to why we’re standing here in the dark.”

“Don’t want to draw attention,” he reasoned. “Employees are probably discouraged from leaving the light on in here, so I thought keeping the light off was a good idea.”

She hummed low in her throat and Sebastian felt one hand shift into his hair, gripping in just the right way to send a bolt of arousal straight to his cock. “Good work, college boy.”

A moment later, he’d estimated her distance and position well enough to have one hand on her shoulder blade and the other over the curve of her ass. “I had to take non-theater classes too, you know. I got my education.”

“We both took Rocks for Jocks, I recall,” she chuckled, using the affectionate nickname that was common place among Rutgers students for the Geology class frequented by the majority of the football team and no less than half of the remaining student athletes.

They’d taken that class together during their second semester of their freshman year, along with a few of the friends that they’d made in their dorm on Cook Campus. They hadn’t gotten together until well after college, unable to find their way to each other due to various things that kept getting in the way.

But Sebastian had always been a good friend to her, and she to him, in turn. Maybe it was better that they hadn’t figured things out until they were older, until they really knew who they were and what would make them happy in life.

Which, as it turned out, happened to be each other.

“We’re wasting precious time,” he mumbled into her cheek. “Break’s only gonna last for so long.”

“Right.” He felt her nod and then a split second later, her nimble fingers popping his fly. “Wait- you sure?”

The tug of his zipper was the answer. “I have a lot of confidence in you, but the space and position is going to be tricky as it is, forget about the dark. It’s one thing to be in bed without light at home because- well, let’s face it, I’m an octopus and I _know_ you’re always acutely aware of every one of my limbs for multiple reasons, including your own safety.”

“How could I forget that wrestling move you pulled…?”

“For the thousandth time, it was an _accident_ and I have proved even more times that everything is in working order.”

“For which I am immeasurably grateful.”

Even in the dark, he could sense her eye roll.

But then she did something that truly surprised him. Slender fingers guided each of his hands to one of the steel rods supporting the shelving so that he could wrap his own digits around them.

“We have fifteen minutes, give or take. I can fix my lipstick, I can’t fix a rat’s nest,” she reasoned and soon, she had a hold on his belt loops and had tugged them down enough to give her room to work.

He let out a choked noise that she interpreted as some form of agreement, though that could have been from the way she skimmed a fingertip along the line of his cock, which twitched and danced with interest.

“Jesus…”

“Nope, just me,” she retorted with a concealed smirk while lowering to her knees.

She soon sprung him free from the constraints of his boxers and licked a long stripe along the underside, tongue like velvet against the oversensitive skin.

He didn’t have to keep quiet, but he sure as hell had to keep himself in check. And that was already becoming a problem.

With one hand, she drew her fist around him in languid strokes, bearing down the base with a squeeze. Reflexively, Sebastian’s hand started to reach for her hair, but he caught himself and it was returned to the cool steel.

Rewarding him for the motion that was confirmed with a creak of metal, she parted her lips and slid his foreskin back just enough to trace her tongue around the edges and along the dripping slit. His muffled noises were further rewarded when she took his cock in as far as she could, sucking hard enough to create friction.

With a gentle tap of her free hand on the back of his thigh, she encouraged him to let his hips cant forward.

Seb’s resultant moan was downright lascivious, but he somehow managed to keep enough awareness to fall into a rhythm.

It started slow at first, when he could still remain in control of both his physical and mental facilities. But as time slipped away and things progressed, his hold on reality became tenuous at best.

Which created a whole new conundrum in and of itself.

“Sweetheart…” His teeth were grit together, voice tight. “I can’t- I’m gonna-“

Her fingers drew over the denim covering the back of his thigh and then tapped again.

Sebastian nearly froze. Was she _actually_ encouraging him?

After all, she was the one who had insisted he hold onto the shelving (not that he minded, of course). But he had no way of knowing what would be too much for her to handle, if she wanted to; and if it was too _much_ , her lipstick would be the least of her problems.

When she made no effort to move away or relinquish his cock, he sought further confirmation. “You sure?” he asked, point-blank.

He wasn’t sure what was better: the answer that came from her hum or the way it sent him toppling over the edge.

Either way, there was a distinct possibility he might have stripped a screw or two.

He was panting when she came up for a true breath of air and no longer cared about bending his promise to her. Sebastian palmed his way up her shoulder until he could haul her up into a kiss that was hot and mess and _salty_ to the point he was just a little disoriented.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed at a certain point, noses pressed together. “Where’s a wheelchair when you need it? I don’t think I can walk.”

He could actually feel her preening a bit. “Well, we don’t have much time to get our act together,” she snickered and gingerly tucked him back into his boxers, then righted his jeans again. “I left my purse by the door. I should have a few minutes to give myself a once over in the bathroom.”

“I wish I could see how fucked out you look,” he lamented with a sigh.

“Play your cards right and I might be up for an encore performance.”

He walked her a few steps backward until his knuckles grazed the door. “Well, if nothing else, I can promise you that _I_ will be up for it.”

* * *

“Jesus Christ, where have you been!” Will looked like he was about to have an aneurism. “Seb said you went to the bathroom, but that was almost twenty minutes ago.”

She shrugged and twirled a finger around the bottom of her ponytail. “Have you never seen the line for the ladies’ room?”

“Whatever,” he grumbled and raked a hand roughly through his hair. “We have a legacy to uphold. So you better hold it after this… and I’m cutting you off after this drink.”

“Hey!” she kicked him under the table. “Nobody takes away baby’s beer.”

“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” He swiped the bottle off of the table and held it aloft to tease her. “Then maybe I should just finish it.”

Her eyes flitted over to Sebastian, who already had the brim of his hat tipped low to hide his face.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you. You don’t know where my mouth has been.”

Will scoffed. “Yes, I do. The same place it’s been for the last three-plus years.”

“Once of them, yes,” she countered and punctuated her sentence by popping a freshly fried pickle into her mouth. “Which coincidentally, is where it just was, oh… twenty minutes ago.”

Will had shared drinks with both her and Sebastian before, an accidental glass mix up here and plenty of rounds of beer pong there. So under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t bother any of them.

Which was why he couldn’t imagine there to be a reason she’d be giving him shit about it.

Their friend glanced between them, from her slightly swollen lips to Sebastian’s quaking shoulders, and then back again.

And there was a very distinct moment where she watched as everything click and the puzzle pieces promptly snapped together.

“Oh.” His entire face wrinkled up with revulsion. “Fuck you _both_.”

“I mean…” She plucked her bottle back from his loose grip and took a long sip to bide her time, making him as uncomfortable as possible. “We could go for round 2, but I think Seb might have broken a shelf, so… probably best to wait until we get home.”

As it turned out, guessing the exact number of countries in the world wasn’t the only thing that could make Will get up and leave the bar.


	3. REWIND: Atmore Pump in Metallic Blue Fabric (Daya by Zendaya)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kind of got away from me and is about three times the length of my previous chapters. Oops.
> 
> Thanks to Ashley for giving this a beta read. :)
> 
> As a side note, this chapter is rewinding in their relationship. It's different than what I've written so far, but I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, thanks to Zayn Malik for the song "PILLOWTALK", which I listened to easily 1701 times while writing this.

 

[REWIND: Atmore Pump in Metallic Blue Fabric (Daya by Zendaya) - $79.95 at Nordstrom's](http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/daya-by-zendaya-atmore-pump-women/4392441?origin=keywordsearch-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=METALLIC%20BLUE%20FABRIC)

 

Sebastian had thoroughly enjoyed his time lying low after the chaos that was the Captain America: The First Avenger press tour. It was not only his first taste of the Marvel machine, but of really anything of that caliber.

He’d never really been a featured player on Gossip Girl, so he’d mostly avoided the talk circuit, and the same rule applied with Hot Tub Time Machine and his blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance in Black Swan.

The Covenant had really been his biggest role to date and the level of talent hadn’t really drawn much of a media circus to the film, which he’d been more than fine with.

Captain America had been a horse of an entirely different color, even if most seemed to be clamoring over the man behind the blue cowl himself. And that was also okay by him.

He was still finding a way to be comfortable in his own skin under the scrutiny of the press, of the fan base that had already started to swell from the moment they’d seen him first don the uniform of Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes.

He was recognized a little bit more, but everyone had been so nice and polite that he counted his lucky stars to have that kind of support without the prying eye of the paparazzi at any given turn.

It also made it infinitely easier to duck out of his apartment on a Friday morning to start his day with some Starbucks before any of his teleconferences began. The remaining interviews were all with European media entities, in countries where the film had been the last to drop, but at least he could conduct them from the comfort of his own apartment.

The line that morning wasn’t all that long (even if the crowd waiting for their caffeine fix at pick up _was_ ) and he chalked it up to the end of the commuter rush. However, when he took his place at the end of the queue, he almost instantly wished it was longer.

Sebastian’s pale eyes were immediately drawn towards the floor and firmly landed on a pair of black stiletto heels crafted from shiny patent leather. The slide of his gaze indicated that they belonged to a pair of shapely legs topped by a black pencil skirt and then a blazer. Though he couldn’t see, he was willing to bet the farm that the curves didn’t stop at her hips.

However, his quick study soon ended when the woman completed her order and she turned, the change in angle flashing bright red toes of the shoes that gradually faded into black at the back, as he’d seen.

 _Ombre_ , he recalled from something he’d seen recently on TV. Or maybe it had been in a magazine? He couldn’t remember at that moment its source, but that also could have been due to the shift of blood from his brain to- well, elsewhere.

Hell, his name was difficult to recollect at that exact point in time in light of what he was seeing. But thankfully, the woman attached to the high heels took the opportunity to remind him.

“Seb?” she spoke suddenly, almost in disbelief at his presence.

He managed to rip his gaze away from the shoes (and pointedly _not_ ogle on the way up) so that he could find the owner’s face. And promptly grinned on sight. “Holy shit.”

“I _knew_ it was you!” she practically squeaked with excitement and stepped closer to embrace him tightly. “My God, it’s been so long!”

“Too long,” he tacked on and meant every single letter of the words.

Her perfume wafted across his nose and he smiled. She smelled differently now, hints of flowers and musk where there’d once been something tropical and fruity. Her hair was lighter now too and when she took a step back enough to hold him by his (admittedly larger) biceps, he could see the extent of the rest of the changes.

Her face was a little more angular in a way that only came with maturation, locks that had been a little frizzy and just past shoulder length were now long and styled into loose curls he’d seen on every red carpet he’d experienced in the past few months. She was so well-put together in a way that confirmed what he’d always known back when they were eighteen, that she was going to grab life by the balls one day and make it her bitch. And he meant that to be as high of a complement as he was capable of.

“You look incredible.” He smiled at her. “Not that you didn’t before, but… you look like you could crush the world beneath your foot now.”

She laughed and it was as bright and melodious as he remembered. “Well, you’ve aged better than I have.” She gave him a gentle squeeze. “No more bony elbows and lanky limbs for you, Sebastian Stan. You’ve been getting sun, too, I see. Still living out in LA?”

“Nah.” He shook his head at her. “It wasn’t really for me out there. I moved back a couple of years ago. I’m living on the Upper West Side now.”

“Soho,” she remarked to inform him of her own location. “Which is _ridiculous_ because I work a block away from Bryant Park, but I guess I sort of get the best of both worlds that way, even if I have to dodge tourists a lot of the time.”

He did a slight shuffle step to get out of the way of the remaining patrons and to isolate themselves towards the short little bar where they could talk away from the bustle. At least, what qualified as being isolated in a Starbucks.

“What are you up to now?”

“I work as in-house counsel in my company’s licensing and transactional department.” She shrugged it off as though it were the most ordinary and mundane thing.

Seb’s eyebrows rose. “You’re a lawyer? When did that happen?”

She chuckled and brushed back a curl. “Year after you moved out west.”

“I thought you were going to go for your MBA?”

“I kind of did? I realized I could do more if I got my JD-MBA, so I took my LSATs and did the joint degree program at Columbia. Not ideal to get out of school being closer to thirty than twenty, but I’ve made my peace with it, even if my grandmother hasn’t.”

He leaned his forearm on the black formica. Sebastian certainly remembered her drunken rants about how her grandmother expected her to be married and popping out grandchildren by twenty-two, which aggravated her to no end considering she’d been 25 when she’d gotten married and therefore, an old maid. “Well, _I_ am impressed by you beyond words.”

“Me?” She scoffed. “ _Sebastian_. I see your face on the side of buses and on posters. You have no idea how proud I am of you. And, for the record…” She poked him in the chest. “You were _great_ in The Covenant, even if the script was absolute shit.”

He grimaced and groaned. “Ugh, you saw that?”

“Come on…” She lightly punched his shoulder. “That was classic, broody Sebastian right there. As was your role on Kings. Um… Jack, I think? And Gossip Girl, too.”

“Wait a second.” He held up his hand. “You watched all of that?”

“I wanted to support you.” She shrugged a little shyly and for the first time that day, Sebastian saw a hint of the girl he’d met at eighteen years old, when she had been quietly sitting on the far side of the lounge with a book in her hands. “And I like being able to see you continue to grow as an actor, even when it’s from a distance.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, even if it wasn’t her intention, which he was certain it wasn’t. Sebastian had never really been sure when or why they’d fallen out of touch. Work, school, maybe just the distance was too much?  But all of those times where he’d nearly drowned in self-doubt, she could have pulled him from it if he’d just reached for the phone every now and then, like she’d done when they were young and stupid and half-drunk.

He opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ to show her how much he’d missed her when she let out a low curse and took a few steps towards the counter to retrieve her iced caramel macchiato.

“I’m sorry. I have to run… meeting at 10 and I still have to review a few things before I head in.” She truly looked disappointed at how quickly they’d run out of time. “This was- this was really, really nice, Seb. I mean it.”

He nodded and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, only now realizing he’d never actually ordered his coffee. “You think… maybe, you might want to have dinner tonight? We can catch up and take our time. I’m sure a lot has happened in seven years.”

“I think one look at your IMBD page can confirm that,” she laughed, but bobbed her head. “I’d like that, though. Barring catastrophe, I can cut out by 6, 6:30.”

“How about 7:30 at… Kellari?” he suggested. “That’s near Bryant Park, right?”

“Mhmm. I went there once a few years ago, but definitely wanted to go back.” She set her cup down for a minute to fish around in her purse (Louis Vuitton, he noted, and _good for her_ ) until she came up with her business card. She scribbled a new number at the bottom with a pen that she dropped back into the bag and then handed the paper over to Seb. “That’s my office number, obviously, and my cell. Call me if anything changes?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll text you with my number, just in case?”

“Sounds good.” She leaned in and over to kiss his cheek, smiling into his warm skin. “I’ll see you later, Seb.”

“Yeah.” He grinned after her as she left, eyes still drawn to her damn stilettos. “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

As it turned out, the universe must have been pleased with their reunion (responsible even, maybe?) because she’d been able to not only leave work at 6:30 on the nose, but an emergency client meeting had taken her to Soho and made it possible to swing by her apartment for a change of clothes to bring back to the office.

She strolled into Kellari Taverna in an outfit that was perfect for the fall temperatures that would no doubt cool even more by the time the night was over: black skinny jeans, a form-fitting white lace tank, and a black leather bomber jacket that was completed with metallic blue snakeskin heels. She hadn’t had the chance to break them out yet and that night was the _perfect_ excuse.

Because she was early, she planned on taking a seat at the bar to grab a drink while waiting for Sebastian to arrive. However, when she’d scanned the length of the counter for an empty seat, she was surprised to find a familiar face. Dress in a denim jacket, white tee, and dark rinse jeans, Sebastian was leaning back a little on his stool and chatting with the patron beside him.

“Hey, Sailor.” She tapped him on the shoulder and found herself warming at the face-splitting grin he tossed her way. “Hope you’re not drinking alone.”

The man formerly known as his temporary drinking buddy clapped him on the shoulder and spun to the right on his stool to fix his attention on his _actual_ drinking buddy, leaving Seb to the woman.

Not that he was complaining, of course.

“Tell me what you’re drinking and I won’t be,” he returned smoothly, smile never faltering for a moment. “You still drinking those fruity things?”

“When the occasion calls for them, yes, but my tastes have generally gotten a _little_ classier.” She slid her purse from her shoulder as she sat on the neighboring seat and then set it on her lap. “Whatever the house pinot grigio is and _no_ , it’s not _Franzia_.” Her lips quirked.

“I don’t care what anyone says. That shit was _classy_ back in the day.”

“Classier than jungle juice, maybe. But not by much.”

“I don’t remember you complaining,” he pointed out, while straightening to flag down the bartender.

“… that’s because you were probably blackout drunk and are actually incapable of remembering.”

He placed the order and rolled his eyes when the man walked off to tend to her glass. “Oh, but see… I seem to recall this one time I had to carry you up a flight of stairs because you sprained your ankle trying to do a kegstand.”

“I was nineteen,” she blanched. “Sue me.”

He slid the wine glass over with two fingers once it arrived. “I would, but you’d be representing yourself, which means I’d be the only one paying legal fees, so…” He shrugged his shoulders and took a pull of his beer. “I still can’t believe you’re a lawyer.”

She arched an eyebrow, as if amused by Seb’s statement. “To be fair, I almost didn’t survive the first year of school and nearly left the profession altogether after a year. I started off at a law firm and that kind of life just wasn’t for me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I liked the subject matter, but I didn’t like the politics. I was supposed to bill a certain amount of hours a year, but even if a project was complex and took me two hours to complete, the powers that be would decide a client would only be willing to pay for one hour. It was like they were saying that I was only worth half as much. And then they’d just love to complain at my reviews that I wasn’t billing enough hours.” She sighed, rather heavily at that. “I was just so physically and emotionally exhausted, fielding e-mails and calls at 10pm on a Saturday night. Getting paid half of what I should have been, but it was a job at a time the economy was just tanking, you know?”

Guilt coursed through him. He’d been out in LA at the time, blissfully unaware of her struggles back East. She had been one of his closest friends and a confidante for four years, joined at the hip most days, and he never returned the favor.

“But you work for a company now?”

“I left after a year and a half. My department gets along very well because there aren’t politics involved,” she explained, trying to keep the inner workings of a firm versus a company fairly layman. “No one is jockeying to make partner, no one has vested interest in a coworker’s failure. We work together for one goal. We don’t have to please the client, just protect our brands.” Her lips twitched and then she outright laughed. “Could never quite tell a client to fuck off, but I can tell marketing that they’re stupid for not running a slogan by us first. Obviously, I’d never use those words, but still. I don’t have to kiss anyone’s ass. I was so sick of that, Seb.”

He watched as she slumped a little in her chair as though recalling the emotional upheaval she’d experienced what Sebastian estimated to be around three to four years ago. All of which he wasn’t there for.

“But you landed on your feet,” he pointed out. “You always do, unsurprisingly,” he added with a grin.

She blushed almost instantly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that.

It didn’t seem like forty minutes had passed, but soon enough, a hostess politely interrupted their conversation to advise that their table was ready for them. Sebastian waited for her to walk first and then trailed to where a table awaited them towards the back of the restaurant, past the massive display of various fish on ice.

She turned to see (or rather, make sure) that Sebastian had noticed the cart, which he confirmed by sucking in his cheeks and widening his eyes to make himself look more like the massive grouper in the middle of the array.

He caught a glimpse of her clapping her hand over her mouth as she turned back in order to prevent herself from barking out laughter. His smile grew impossibly wider.

God, he’d missed her.

They dined on the hummus, babaganoush, olives, and accompanying pita that awaited them at the table. Then followed that up with spanakopita and katsikisio, Dover Sole (him) and Black Sea Bass (her), and split galaktoboureko and baklava when they couldn’t come to a decision on just one.

The pair had been in the restaurant for nearly three hours by the time the din of the restaurant became far too loud for either to hear the whole conversation, a result of high vaulted ceilings with wood beams and poor acoustics.

“Hey.” She leaned in closer to the point where she was nearly face-first into the soupy remains of the vanilla custard of the galaktoboureko. “I don’t think I can even hear myself think anymore. You want to come back to my place for a drink and an acceptable level of noise? I have some old photos we can look through, too…”

“Oh, thank God. I thought it was just me!” he snorted and promptly flagged down the waitress.

A small squabble ensued over the check, which she insisted they split. But Sebastian would hear none of it, seeing as he asked _and_ picked the place. Though, she ultimately maintained that she would pick up the tab the next time.

A small part of him punched the air at the notion there _would_ be a next time.

They took the subway together, which brought back memories of standing on platforms in Penn Station at two in the morning, huddling together as they walked the streets of New Brunswick in the winter for both warmth and safety.

The trip from door to door was only around thirty minutes and thankfully, it was a brisk fall evening in New York City, so their respective jackets were more than enough. She’d led them from the station a few blocks to her building, where they were greeted by a doorman who was generally there to act as security, not a concierge.

When Sebastian entered her apartment on the fifth floor, it was nothing like he expected and exactly like he expected all at once.

It wasn’t large, but it was homey with taupe walls and maple wood floors. In the sitting area, there was a black marl sofa and love seat peppered with violet pillows that matched the area rug. Atop the area rug was a black coffee table, roughly fifteen feet from a matching credenza with maple drawers and a flat screen mounted above it.

With a second look, he realized that the windows that spanned the far wall weren’t just windows, but in fact, housed a pair of doors that led to a small balcony and a pair of orchids flanked the radiators on either side of the glass panes.

To his left, there was a small kitchen with a black granite breakfast bar that doubled as extra counter space, a necessity for a nook with little other free room in light of the stainless steel refrigerator/freezer and oven, the latter beneath a microwave hovering between cabinets that were a few shades darker than the floors.

It was not the vast, trendy space he anticipated finding in SoHo, but it was unabashedly _her_ in every nook and cranny.

“So much purple,” he remarked, lips twitching, even as she smacked his arm.

“It’s not _that_ much purple. Seriously, just the pillows and the rugs. Okay, and one of the orchids,” she conceded. “But it’s not like I couldn’t use my favorite color within reason.” Her lips pulled into a warm smile and she squeezed his shoulder. “Go one, make yourself at home,” she instructed. “What’ll you have… beer, wine, something harder?”

“Beer’s fine, thanks.” He dipped his head.”

The woman spun on her heel and ambled into the small kitchen. “I’ll get our drinks and then go hunt down those scrapbooks. I think they’re in the hall closet.”

While she tended to their beverages in the kitchen, Sebastian roamed the perimeter of what functioned as her living room. There was a small bookshelf to the right of the TV that she’d already outgrown, filled with books he remembered her treasuring in college and a whole shelf just for the Harry Potter series and related novels. That included the third and fourth books, which he remembered tagging along to Barnes and Noble to await the midnight launch in order to obtain.

As he continued along, he found himself stopping at the credenza. It was lined with pictures of her family, but the very first one was a photo he recognized. It was a simple silver frame, but it contained a landscape photo of their small group of friends, crowded into a table at Stuff Yer Face, each with a straw between their lips that was lodged in one of the popular fishbowl cocktails. It was back when they still used fishbowls instead of the plastic pitchers they’d adopted in recent years after one too many accidents.

It was a little out of place amongst the other frames containing bright, smiling faces. But the fact that _she_ felt it had a place there spoke volumes to him.

Before he could say anything about it, she was at his side with a scrapbook in one hand and his beer in the other. “You know they use plastic pitchers now. I went back with Chelsea for homecoming last year which, by the way, was a terrible idea and made me feel old as hell.”

He accepted the proffered beer and shook her head. “I told you before. You look older, but not old. I don’t think you’ll ever look old.”

She snickered. “Shut up and drink your beer, Sebastian.”

“You used to say that to me any time a girl hit on me at a party.”

“Yeah because you’d usually open your mouth and ruin any shot you had with her.”

“You were a good wingwoman then.”

“Still am.” She bounced your shoulders. “But I don’t think you need help in that department anymore. Ah… Jennifer, right?”

Sebastian’s forehead creased slightly and he shook his head. “It’s been over for a while. Just wasn’t working. She was a good person, but I just don’t think dating within the industry is the way to go.”

“You say that now.” She guided him over to the couch and set the scrapbook down on the coffee table. “But someone could change your mind. In the meantime, enjoy some of the more embarrassing photos of your youth and be glad I’m the only one with copies of them all.” She winked at him and then departed to get her own glass of wine from the kitchen, where she’d left a bottle of white permanently chilling in the refrigerator, even if she couldn’t remember the grape.

After flipping open the cover, it became apparent that each page brought a fresh wave of memories which made his heart ache just a little for a simpler time. Sure, he wasn’t successful then, but he had people he could count on, people he loved, and he missed them all being a call away on his stupidly clunky flip phone.

It was strange to think that so many years had passed since a few of these photos were taken, a whole decade, in fact. Some of these people were married with families now, though he hadn’t been able to make the weddings due to filming at the time.

His hand froze at a particular photo on the third to last page. It was at a cast party in their junior year and he fairly certain he hadn’t seen this one before, unlike most of the others. Both of them had a red Solo cup in their hands, seated together on the couch. His arm was slung across the back, but at this angle, it looked like his arm was around her as he’d leaned in to say something in her ear. Whatever it had been, the twenty-year-old girl beside him had flashed a smile that lit her face up like a Christmas tree.

Sebastian knew that there was nothing behind that particular snapshot, not in the way it could be interpreted by an outsider on body language alone.

And yet…

There was a half-full glass of chardonnay on the breakfast bar, her back to it as she stowed the re-corked bottle in the fridge. Though when she shut the door and turned around, she nearly smacked into the very solid body of Sebastian, who had firmly installed himself between her and her drink.

“Jesus,” she exhaled with a hand to her chest. “You’re quieter on your feet than I remember.”

He took a small step closer. “But you _do_ remember.”

She furrowed her brows at him. “Of _course_ I do. You were my best friend. I mean, look at us, Seb? It’s been six or seven years, but it’s still so easy, you know? I can see time has passed by looking at us, but it doesn’t really feel like it.”

He blinked at her. Something had changed in the last few minutes since they’d been in the living room, though he couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. But then he glanced ahead at the stainless steel and a Cheshire grin spread across his lips, accompanied by another step.

“You took off your shoes.” He watched as her eyes darted to focus in on his own in a way they hadn’t so far. “I forgot how short you really are.”

“Asshole,” she spat back, but there was no malice behind it. Only a sharp inhale as his bent forearm pressed against the steel and brought his body that much closer. “Sebastian…”

He didn’t know that tone. It wasn’t the warning that often accompanied his name on her lips, or even the groan of complaint. It was something entirely different, something very new to him.

Whatever it was, it was like it hit the impulse button and every ounce of self-control Sebastian possessed promptly snapped and disappeared altogether.

His lips mashed against hers and though his arm remained in place for a few moments, it wasn’t long before it slid down so that his hand could tangle into her hair and his body could crowd hers into the refrigerator door.

When they separated, it was largely due to lack of oxygen, so they were both panting in the silence.

And as awareness of his body returned, he realized she had a gentle grasp on his ribs.

“When I invited you back here, when I asked about Jennifer…” She swallowed, but her attention flicked from his mouth to his eyes. “This wasn’t what I was after.”

“I know.” She would always be too good of a person for that. He still knew her; emotional manipulation wasn’t something she was capable of. “But I can’t remember a time in the last decade-plus that I haven’t thought about what this would be like.”

Her eyes snapped up. “ _What_?”

“To kiss you,” he clarified, thinking that was the source of her confusion. “I always wanted to.”

He noticed that her fingers hadn’t moved a millimeter. “So why didn’t you?”

“I came close a few times, but- I just-” He sighed, wincing at the unsteadiness in his voice. “I was this scrawny, pasty kid. A soon-to-be starving actor. But you were strong and beautiful and college was just a holding pen for you because you were going to set fire to the earth. I knew that then.” Sebastian paused. “I still know that now.”

Her head tipped forward just enough that she could rest her forehead against his, even though her eyelids had fluttered closed. “Jesus Christ, Seb. That couldn’t have been any further from how I saw you.”

Sebastian let out a short exhale, if only to breathe in the scent of her shampoo in the moment thereafter. “I have a feeling that if I ask, I’m going to want to put my head through the wall…”

“I was crazy about you,” she whispered in reply. “But you always had girls from Mason Gross chasing after you at after-parties and when we were out on College Ave. And that wasn’t me,” she further explained. “I didn’t have a dancer’s or actress’s body, I wasn’t artsy. So I just wrote off the possibility that you’d ever be interested in me and tried my best to be a good wingwoman for you.”

“I didn’t want any of those girls, I wanted _you_.” He ran his long fingers over her cheek and into her hair. “It’s why your record as a wingwoman kind of sucked.”

“Hearing my nineteen-year-old rationale at twenty-nine does make me cringe.” She laughed just a little, slightly awkward, but it did have its intended effect of easing the somberness in the air. “I’ve thought about it, a lot since you’ve been gone. What it might have been like had I ever done anything about it.” She noticed Seb had opened his mouth to speak and she quickly silenced him with a finger to his lips. “Let me finish. If you hadn’t been receptive, I’d have lost the friendship I relied so heavily on to survive four years of college. If you had been, I’d have likely followed you to California and might not have gone for my MBA and JD, might have wound up doing something completely different. Sort of like the Butterfly Effect.”

“So what you’re saying is,” he attempted to surmise, “this is exactly where we were both supposed to be in our lives.”

She dipped her head in agreement, as much as the proximity would allow. “Yes.”

“But that would mean we were meant to end up right here.” He somehow managed to find space between them that he felt he needed to reclaim and shifted his body to do so. “Just like this.”

“No, Sebastian.” Her hands skimmed up his jacket until they could retract enough to loop around his neck, one set of fingers grazing across the fine hairs at his nape. “Like _this_ ,” she countered and pressed up on her bare toes to slant their lips together.

This time, there was less shock and more reciprocation and Sebastian took the opportunity to try to memorize everything about her. Now that his hands were on her waist, he could feel the hard jut of her hip bones, but also the soft give of her skin as his touch ascended up her abdomen and ribs.

At his current distance, the scent of her perfume was intoxicating with notes of musk and vanilla tied up in jasmine and wisteria. He wanted to _bury_ himself in it.

And God, the way her lips moved against his made him want to take up poetry. She was everything that he’d ever fantasized about under the cover of darkness in his bedroom, left to his own devices. Even if he would never admit to her what he’d done with her name on his lips on those nights.

Then her fingers found their way under his tee-shirt and his brain short circuited.

“Seb?” her voice was soft and he could feel the hesitation there, despite his eyes being closed.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, cradling her face in his hands. “My brain just caught up on the program here and is very pleased with his discovery.”

“Well, if your brain, and the rest of you for that matter, would like to stay tonight…” She bit her lip, already swollen from the kisses. “You can.”

Sebastian’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The grin he sported after her confirmation was one that she had not seen since he watched her systematically destroy a particularly chauvinistic football player in their class on Western Religion. He’d considered it a work of art at the time, but this was in a class of its own.

There was surprising grace in the way he suddenly stooped and hoisted her into the air with his arms wrapped just beneath the curve of her butt. But she didn’t have long to contemplate it before he had begun his departure from the kitchen and around the breakfast bar towards the hall.

Sebastian stopped at each door to see if it was her bedroom, which was generally met with a giggle and a shake of her head. By the second door (her linen closet, for the record), it had become an ongoing joke.

He managed to angle their bodies so he could open the last door, which was undoubtedly her bedroom, and carried her inside. But rather than set her down on the bed, he lowered her to her feet just in front of it.

“Can I?” he asked, sliding the lapels of her leather bomber jacket between his thumb and forefinger. A nod was all he needed to slowly slip it from her narrow shoulders, though, she was impressed at how he’d draped it along the foot of her bed with care.

When he moved in for another kiss, she pushed her hand against his chest and shook her head. “Your turn.” She tugged on the hem of his jacket.

He laughed and ditched it with a lot less caution in a heap in the corner. Then his hands returned to her sides and he leaned in to reclaim the contact.

Now that she had asked him to spend the night and it was clear where they were heading, Sebastian no longer worried much about pushing her. He was still mindful of their pace, that he wouldn’t make her feel pressured into doing anything she might not be ready for or prevent her from changing her mind if that was her prerogative.

He took things slow at first, letting her reactions dictate how they progressed. She tipped her head back a little and he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips before dipping inside, groaning as it slid alongside hers.

Her hands snuck their way under his shirt again, grazing over taut muscles until the white cotton bunched at his chest and he understood what she wanted. He reached between them to tug it off and chuck it, giving her enough time to do the same with her own tank top.

Seb let out a low whistle. “Holy shit.” When her cheeks turned pink, he grinned and shook her head. “You’re just- you’re even more beautiful than I pictured. Dream-you didn’t do real-you justice.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“You remember how we talked about all those times you’d open your mouth and send a previously interested girl running?” He nodded. “This is starting to border on one of those times.”

“Right, sorry.” His mouth covered hers, but trailed away to mark a path towards her ear, where he nipped at her lobe. He persisted down the slope of her neck, nipping and sucking at her collarbone. He did not leave a mark on her, despite his instinct to do so. It was not his right (not _yet_ , his brain supplied helpfully) and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin the moment.

No, after more than a decade of waiting, Sebastian wanted to savor everything about her.

Despite the inclination, it wasn’t much longer until they were standing in front of her bed in nothing more than their undergarments. Neither had pushed further quite yet, though she did frequently catch him sneaking glances between kisses and it never failed to make her smile.

Eventually, he dared to take the next step and pressed her back towards the bed with a hand splayed between her shoulder blades. She let him take the lead, easing back until her head was on a pillow and he was hovering over her.

“Hello.” Her fingertips skittered down his arms that caged her body in place. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He burst out laughing at that, which sent her into a fit of hysterics as he collapsed atop her, body shaking with the force of it. But then he inadvertently rocked forward, causing his pelvic bone to grind against the front of her panties and draw a gasp from her that echoed in the silence that followed.

To him, it was like the first breath of oxygen after being underwater for nearly too long.

Sebastian pulled back just a little to stare down at her and repeated the motion, eyes darkening as it had the same effect. But this time, he was privy to the way her eyelids fluttered and the o-shape of her mouth.

And it drove him _fucking crazy_.

His lips were on hers in seconds, swallowing each little moan and gasp as he rocked. He relished the slide of their skin, hers so soft and warm. He was going to touch every inch of her by the time the sun came up, but that would come in time.

As would she.

In fact, she was likely only a few more rolls of his hips away from a climax, when he abruptly stopped and she let out a whimper of disappointment.

“I promise, sweetheart, I’m going to take care of you…” he soothed through a few gentle pecks. “But after all this time, I don’t want the first time I make you come to be like a couple of teenagers dry-humping when the parents are out at dinner.”

He silently reminded himself to take his time with her after that and focused on getting himself acquainted with her whole body, removing her bra and panties until she was completely exposed to him. If he thought she was beautiful before, he had no idea the adjective he’d use to describe her after.

He proceeded to take her apart after that, with his lips and teeth and tongue until she was a squirming mess beneath him with slightly-wild eyes and an insistence in her voice that he could no longer ignore.

He crooked one finger inside of her, then two, and with his thumb on her clit, he went to work, massaging and stroking and working her wet and open for him.

He’d never heard her beg before and perhaps it was why the very first time he did, he nearly swallowed his tongue.

“God, this is a terrible time to ask…” he muttered to himself, realizing he’d jumped the gun just a little and without a parachute, at that.

She reached up to brush some hair from his forehead, calm despite the brightness in her eyes and tousled mane. “I haven’t been with anyone in six months, tested clean in July. There is a box of condoms in the nightstand from March, so they should still be fine.”

“I-“ He blew out a breath and shook his head. “I’m clean, too. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“You care enough about me, and yourself, to be safe,” she pointed out, reaching for her nightstand to tug open the correct drawer. “A question about my sexual health and a minute to reassure me of yours is _not_ a moodkiller, Seb. Just reminds me why I’ve always been attracted to you.”

He deftly plucked the box from its home and removed a packet that he sat back on his haunches to tear open. “Always?”

“Mhmm. You were maybe out of sight for a while, but never really out of mind. I don’t think it ever went away, maybe it was just dormant.” She nudged the drawer shut. “But then I saw you at Starbucks and I was eighteen again and holy fuck, did it all come back.”

With the condom on, he leaned back over her and pressed a searing kiss to her lips. “I’m really glad it did,” Sebastian murmured, running his fingers through her hair. “Never went away for me either.”

He took himself in hand and the head of his cock jutted up against her folds.

“You okay?” he gently inquired, to which she nodded. “You tell me if you need me to stop or go slower or whatever you want, alright?”

“Alright,” she assented, breathlessly.

Sebastian continued to press forward, met with tight, wet heat and a high-pitched exhale that nearly pushed him over the edge. When he bottomed out, he stopped completely, both to allow her time to adjust and to regain his own composure. The fact that this was as physically close to her as he could ever be hit him as an added bonus.

He took his time, letting his hips fall back into the rhythm they had found while skimpily clothed twenty minutes or so before. This time, though, she was not the only one who found pleasure simmering just beneath the surface of her skin. Sebastian felt like every synapse was alight.

She was moaning his name in his ear before long. He had started off kissing her, but found himself unable to maintain his pace and remember how to breathe at the same time, so he had buried his face in her neck and continued to breathe her in.

Sebastian knew the moment that she went rigid that she was about to climax, a split second before she shouted his name. It was the last little push that he needed to follow her over the edge and he did so with a growl of her own name, hips staccato until he was spent.

He laid atop her, limp so as to regain enough oxygen in his lungs to function, nose still buried in the divot of her collarbone. Still, he couldn’t resist a flick of his tongue to taste her salty skin.

At some point, she had wrapped her legs around his waist and while they now hung there loosely, it offered the added benefit of the opportunity for Seb to run a strong hand from ankle to thigh.

“You are the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever seen. Inside and out.”

“Well.” She ran trembling digits through messy locks. “You _are_ currently inside me. So I suppose, I really should take you at your word.”

It took Sebastian a full five minutes to regain his ability to inhale.

* * *

Sebastian awoke at least twice that he could remember before he was fully awake.

The first time, it was pitch black in her bedroom and it had taken a couple of minutes for him to understand where he was, both the bed and the body his arm was draped across seemingly unfamiliar. But then the day before crashed over him like a tidal wave and he found himself twitching with the need for _something_ , he just couldn’t identify what it was.

So he figured he’d try to satiate it with the taste of her kiss, despite the fact that he could tell she was sleeping. It started out gentle so as not to wake her, but then her lips parted, ostensibly a result of an instinctive response to him, and he was an absolute goner.

It didn’t take her long to wake once he’d deepened the kiss and through the darkness, he could feel her smile.

She was still slick from the night before and it only took Sebastian a few swift tugs to get himself going again, half-hard from the moment he’d opened his eyes.

He couldn’t remember falling back to sleep, but the second time he awoke had been as the fingers of dawn had just taken hold of her windowsill, blanketing the room in a rosy-orange glow through the gaps in her teal drapes and cream blinds. He had shifted just a little on his back, but found himself unable to adjust much due to the woman half-curled up against him, half draped over him with an arm and a leg.

It was exceedingly easy to fall back to sleep, this time with an arm wrapped around her to cradle her warm body close to him. To keep her safe, like he had always wanted to.

The last time he awoke, the bed was empty and the sheets were cool on the unoccupied, but neatly made side. A spell of panic ripped through him and he worried she’d bolted. He supposed that she could wait for her doorman or a neighbor to let her know he was gone from the apartment and it was safe to come back. Or maybe take her chances by not returning until late in the evening. He vaguely recalled her saying she didn’t have plans for the weekend, but his brain was still sort of sleep-adled.

The creak of the door caused his head to snap in the direction of the noise and he was suddenly graced with the sight of her, padding barefoot into the bedroom. “Close your eyes,” she instructed softly.

He did as asked, his memory already latching onto the image of her wearing his discarded tee shirt behind his eyelids. “Is this some kinky sex thing?”

“ _No_.” She snorted and the bed dipped with her weight on the edge of where he’d been sleeping. “Open your mouth.”

“This sounds like a kinky sex thing,” Sebastian reiterated, wryly.

“Maybe later.” Her soft thumb drew across his lower lip. “Now, you going to let me feed you or what?”

He cheekily flicked his tongue over the pad before parting the soft pink flesh for her and he was rewarded with a sweet, fruity warmth on his tongue that drew a beam to his face, even as he chewed and swallowed.

When they were broke college students, her favorite breakfast had consisted of canned peaches topped with oats, brown sugar, and cinnamon that she would pop in the microwave to warm. A “Poor Man’s Peach Crisp”, she had called it, and there were many mornings he had awoken on her floor (or later, when seniority equaled better housing, her couch) and she had plied him with the syrupy concoction.

To this day, the smell of peach cobbler drew those memories to the forefront of his mind.

Sebastian hummed and opened his eyes, brushing strong fingers over the inside of her exposed knee. “Wow. That brings me back.”

“I thought it might. I sometimes make it on Saturday mornings as a treat for myself, thought you might enjoy it, too.”

“On the subject of Saturday mornings, got any plans for today?”

She quirked a brow. “I try not to make plans when I have handsome men in my bed.”

“You think I’m sexyyyyyy,” he sang, shifting his shoulders in a little dance, though he remained mostly reclined on his back, save for his head propped up by two pillows.

“Wow. Okay. No more peaches for _you_. That was atrocious.” She moved to stand, but Sebastian popped up with a slight grunt and caught her around the waist. Thankfully, she managed to set the bowl down on the nightstand before he could pull her back into bed next to him.

“Admit it…” He grinned into her cheek, having rolled onto his side. “You think I’m preeeettyyyy.”

“Pretty fucking ridiculous, yes,” she said dryly, but there was a contraction at the corner of her mouth that said otherwise.

“I’d accuse your pants of being on fire, but I think it’s safe to say you’re not wearing any.”

“Pants are not required on lazy Saturdays, Mr. Stan. Apartment rules.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head, a bit retriever-like. “So if I wanted to maybe stay a little while, I would not be allowed to wear pants?”

She shook her head once. “Most definitely not.”

He nodded in understanding and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “And what if I wanted to take you to dinner tonight?”

“Not wearing pants out in public may be considered lewd or lascivious conduct under New York City Criminal Law and I’m not prepared to bail you out tonight or beat back reporters with a baseball bat. And notice-“ She lifted a finger. “I specified bat and _not_ stick.”

“I did notice, in fact.” His hand shifted a little and his thumb found her hip bone, massaging over the spot in small circles. “You could come over to my place tonight and I’ll cook for you. I can do that these days.”

“Does that mean I have to get out of bed now?”

“No.”

“Do you have take out options on speed dial in case you set off the smoke alarms and/or sprinklers?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She snuggled into his solid warmth, her nose nuzzled into his chest and Sebastian knew in that moment that if anyone wanted to take her away from him, they’d have to pry her from his cold, dead hands. “It’s a date.”

* * *

“Earth to Sebastian…” a melodious voice called. “Earth to Sebastian. Come in, Sebastian.”

“Hmm?” He looked up from the hardwood floor, unsure when exactly he’d tumbled head-first into a daydream. But it was a good one, completely worth the odd look his girlfriend was giving him as he sat on the short edge of their bed.

“Keep or donate?” she reminded him with a short laugh. “I mean, do I _really_ need a pair of electric blue mermaid scale heels?”

Fog lifting, Seb recalled that she had started to clean out her closet of clothes and shoes she no longer wore, with the purpose of donating the spare items, and had made a point to include him as Chief Heels Consultant.

“Keep,” he answered instantly, without a modicum of doubt in his voice.

Her brows knit together in surprise. “Really?”

“Mhmm.” He dipped his head in affirmation and his lips displayed a soft, almost shy smile. “Call it sentimental value.”

His blue eyes studied her for a few moments, wondering if maybe she remembered.

Judging by the slight flush in her cheeks that accompanied her bitten grin as she placed them back on the shelf with the utmost care, Sebastian was certain that she did.

Save


	4. Ilana Stacked Heel Boots (Franco Sarto)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay between chapters. I started writing a vacation-focused chapter, only to realize it was getting close to Christmas and I wanted to do something holiday-themed instead. It took me a while to shift gears.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this one!

[Ilana Stacked Heel Boots (Franco Sarto) - $139.99 at Lord & Taylor](http://www.lordandtaylor.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/en/lord-and-taylor/shoes/womens-shoes/iliana-stacked-heel-boots)

 

She slept in until nearly 11am for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Three years of graduate school and another six of working full-time meant that her internal clock had clung to early wake-ups and never quite managed to relinquish its hold. Not on weekends, not on vacations, and usually, not on holidays.

Christmas appeared to be the exception.

The woman was just about to roll onto her side to reach for her boyfriend when a series of clangs and thuds, the din of someone bustling about the kitchen, assailed her ears.

It shouldn’t have made her smile. After all, it indicated there was likely a tower of dishes and cookware with caked on grease and residue with her name on it.

Yet, it did.

If Sebastian was planning on surprising her with brunch, she could at least break out one of his presents a little bit early.

* * *

 

It was nice to be home on Christmas morning.

Sebastian had thoroughly enjoyed spending the morning of Christmas Eve with her family and then Christmas Eve dinner with his. The fact that both families were from suburban New Jersey and separated by only a 45-minute car ride made dividing their time a little easier.

It was an arrangement they’d come to a year earlier. They had started seeing each other in Fall of 2011, but their relationship was still new enough they came to the agreement that separate Christmases was the most appropriate course of action.

The following year, she gave up her apartment in Soho and he gave up his apartment in the Upper West Side so that they could move in together. They’d wound up in Soho anyway when they found a place they fell in love with that was right near a Subway line that would take her a block from her workplace and had enough alternate lines that Sebastian could get anywhere he wanted, not to mention only two blocks away from his gym and trainer-turned-BFF (whom she had admittedly been charmed by, but dreaded having drop by the apartment because it meant their fridge got cleaned out within an hour).

He was certain that some of his Hollywood friends thought they were moving too quickly, but he didn’t really give much weight to their opinion. They had known each other for over a decade, shared their hopes and dreams and darkest secrets, and he didn’t think he’d ever meet another woman who understood him down to the marrow of his bones.

They’d made incredible memories in their apartment the previous holiday season, including when she’d had to help Sebastian wrap all the presents for his family because his attempts were disastrous. And it was 1am on Christmas Eve.

There’d also been the ongoing effort by Sebastian, since the calendar had turned to December, to constantly surprise her with mistletoe at every turn, randomly hanging it in every possible location each day. It’d become their version of Elf of the Shelf.

Not that she had uttered a single complaint.

But still, it was officially 11:30am on Christmas and the girlfriend who bailed his ass out of all holiday-related jams at the 11th hour, made sure that he came home to a tidy apartment even when he’d been away for months at a time, kept him well-fed no matter the crazy diet he was on for his latest role, _and_ managed to always know the right thing to say at the right time, deserved more than just nice gifts under the tree.

A meal wasn’t much, but it was something from the heart that he rarely was able to do for her with their respective schedules.

Sebastian planned to surprise her in bed, but he knew it was ruined when he heard footsteps behind him as he was flipping pancakes on the griddle atop the stove. Though, there was a clicking noise that he _also_ recognized, but couldn’t quite understand.

Then he turned around…

… and nearly choked.

She was leaning against the counter in a hooded v-neck dress of emerald velvet, the mid-thigh hemline, three-quarter sleeve, neckline, and hood all trimmed in white fur. The thick black belt cinched the dress in to further highlight her waist and the black knee-high boots only continued to flatter her shapely legs.

Sebastian whistled and nearly dropped his spatula. “I guess I’m on the Nice List this year. Jesus.”

She clicked her tongue at him. “Hmm… only the nice boys get the red dress. You, Mr. Stan, have been exceptionally naughty.”

His tongue darted out over his lips. “Have I?”

“Oh _yes_ ,” she drawled, voice syrupy in a way that had nothing to do with sleepiness. “You’ve engaged in pre-marital relations frequently, living in sin.” She started to slowly saunter towards him. “Not to mention Santa knows all about that time you got a blowjob in a supply closet in a bar.”

He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, trying and failing miserably at hiding his smirk. “Well, yes. I suppose I’ve misbehaved.”

“And there was that time in the town car on the way to the airport.”

“… in all fairness, we weren’t going to see each other for at least four months.”

“And that time in the dressing room fifteen minutes before you were taping a segment on a talk show?”

“She was wearing this _incredible_ pair of jeans.”

She was directly in front of him before her next question, twirling the drawstrings of his sweats around her index finger. The movement drew his eyes downward where they lingered on her visible cleavage. “You know, it’s not nice to keep a guest without offering her something to eat or drink.”

He continued to stare at her neckline until he realized that she was speaking to him and then, his head snapped up. “Oh, r-right. Well.” He gestured to his left. “There’s coffee and breakfast will be ready in a- shit!”

Sebastian pulled from her grasp to tend to the pancakes, which had been abandoned during his period of distraction. Two were a little well-done, but the others were perfectly golden and worthy of being stacked atop either of their plates.

“Why don’t you, uh… take a seat. That’s right, take a seat,” he stammered and she tried her hardest not to let the façade crack from his flustered behavior. “I just have to get the toast going and the eggs and, okay, maybe a few replacement pancakes…”

With a lopsided grin, she hopped up on the counter beside his workspace and crossed her ankles. From his place next to her, Sebastian’s focus drifted to the hem of the dress that had risen up and revealed the white petticoat.

“You did say to take a seat,” she pointed out, a cocky edge to her melodious voice.

Sebastian blew out a shaky breath and shook his head. At the rate that she was going, he was not only going to ruin breakfast, but they were inevitably going to wind up enduring a visit from the fire department that would no doubt make Perez Hilton’s blog.

He looked up to find her grinning at him and the tips of his ears reddened, attention falling back to the griddle.

She found it adorable that she could still make him blush after all this time.

When the last of the pancakes were stacked onto the platter, he carried them over to the table and set them dead center next to the pitcher of orange juice and the mini bagels.

“Want some coffee while I make the eggs?” he asked, sunlight streaming in through the windows behind him and illuminating him. There was a bit of irony in how it surrounded him with an almost angelic glow.

She shook her head and her curls tumbled down her shoulders a little more, hood slipping just a little. “No. I want you to come closer.”

He hesitated for just a heartbeat and blinked. Then she watched as his entire demeanor shifted and he took a solitary step. “How’s this?”

“Not good enough.”

Another step. “How about _now_?”

His girlfriend shook her head.

Sebastian took several steps until he was close enough that she could stretch her arms out and touch him, could hook her fingertips into the elastic waistband of his sweats and draw him the rest of the way.

But she resisted. “Little more, Seb.”

“So I’m Seb now?” From this short of a distance, she noted that his pupils had dilated. “What happened to Mr. Stan.”

“You offered me coffee,” she pointed out.

He took another pair of steps forward until the nylon strings were brushing up against her bare knees. Then he pressed his palms on the counter on either side of her hips. “Is this better?”

Hearing the challenge in his voice, she coiled her legs around his waist to pull him in and welcome him between her legs.

“Is that a yes?”

Rather than vocalize her response, she grasped the front of his shirt and yanked to mash their lips together, an urgent crush of skin and limbs, tongues and teeth. His broad hands wandered, touching his shoulders as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

In a momentary gulp of air in an attempt to refuel, he allowed himself the smallest self-satisfied little grin. She just managed to catch it through heavily lidded eyes before his mouth was on hers again and his hands on her ass, jerking her body towards the edge of the counter to close the remaining distance between her pelvis and his lips.

She ground down against him, almost retaliatory with her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Fingers scrabbled at fabric and the hem, pushing and clawing until she could wrench the shirt over his head and onto the floor.

That was as far as they really got in terms of discarding clothing, however. Sebastian was unendingly pleased to discover that she was _not_ wearing matching undergarments, mainly because she wasn’t sporting any at all, which only made his work that much easier.

She was still slick from the night before and it didn’t take much to get her going, a thumb on her clit with two fingers crooked inside of her in just the right way to steal her breath or, at least, draw it out in high-pitched keens.

A whimper slipped from her throat when he withdrew, close enough to her climax that she could taste it.

“I know, baby, I know.” His chest rumbled with his laughter as he undid the knot in the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “Still on the naughty list.”

His girlfriend narrowed her eyes at him and dug in her heels again, using them to tug down the waistband. With a shit-eating grin, he shoved them over his hips just enough that his cock could spring free, hard and glistening with pre-cum.

Sebastian grabbed her with one hand and kissed her again, hard and clawing and desperate with his other hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking in preparation. She arched toward him as though magnetized and he guided himself inside her, a little rougher than he might have been willing to go a year ago. But they knew each other, mind, body, and soul, knew their limits and all the things that turned the other on.

Her guttural moan served as a personal affirmation.

Neither planned on lasting particular long, nor did they remotely try. Sebastian’s hips pistoned at a constant, sharp rhythm and her legs held on for dear life, nails clawing at his back and likely leaving marks behind.

It was a decided contrast from the night before, but that was why they worked. There was no shame in wanting, in the desire for something hard and fast over slow and sweet. Either way or something in-between functioned as an expression of their love.

Sebastian felt her flutter around him with increasing frequency, signaling to him that she was close, and so he slipped deft fingers between them to rub over her clit in light circles. Less than a minute later, she went rigid and exhaled a breath that left in a squeak, before her whole body became pliant beneath him.

Her head landed against the cabinet with a gentle thud and he buried his face in her neck. One thrust, a second, and with a third, his hips stuttered and she felt his release, the pulse of his cock inside of her.

“Sebastian,” she cooed into his ear, the tip of her nose grazing his lobe.

He hummed, flicking his tongue over her collar bone. “Am I off the naughty list now?”

“Whatever gave you that idea, sweetheart?” She ran a hand up his back, feeling one particular raised slash just over his shoulder blade. “Sorry about that. Got a little overexcited, I think.”

“I know how you can make it up to me.” He lifted his head to draw a line of kisses from her neck to her jaw.

“And what might that be?”

“M’gonna microwave the pancakes,” he murmured into warm flesh, “and then actually cook those goddamn eggs.”

“That doesn’t sound like—“

“And _then_ , after we eat,” he cut her off, “you’re gonna stay dressed _just_ the way you are so you can come sit on Santa Seb’s lap and tell him what you want for Christmas.”

“Fine, but only if Santa Seb is in his birthday suit. It _is_ Christmas, after all.”

“Sweetheart, _Jesus’s_ birthday is on Christmas.” He sighed. “Not Santa.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know that, _Sebastian_. I was trying to sound sexy. Just _go with it_.”

He tried to conceal his amusement, but failed, which earned him a punch to the shoulder. “Okay, okay. Yes.” He cleared his throat, getting back into character. “Despite the obvious hardship of being naked with a gorgeous helper in my lap, I think I can make the sacrifice.”


End file.
